Warning: If you stay here long enough you will gain weight! Grazing here strongly suggests that you are either omnivorous, or a glutton. And you might like cheese-doodles.
BTW: I'm presently searching for another person who likes cheese-doodles.
Please form a caseophilic line to the right. Thank you.

Thursday, July 17, 2008

TRANSVESTITE NIGHTMARE

Yesterday evening I had a drink at an establishment which has a smokers' patio behind the building. While sitting there I had a view of the pool tables. One of the individuals playing pool was a very tall middle aged gentleman with a paunch, wearing bold fishnets, a short ruffly skirt, black panties, and an upper garment that left nothing to the imagination. Lipstick, eye shadow, and a blonde sheitel. I am not sure what his upper garment would be called. It exposed both his generous abdomen, and broad liver-spotted shoulders.
It covered only the falsies.

This morning, Thomas at the tobacco store happily kvelled that the blend he put together as a replacement of the cherry Cavendish was well received. The cherry Cavendish needs to be replaced because the constituent tobaccos are no longer available. The habitual smokers of the cherry Cavendish would otherwise be bereft.

I may have mentioned in the past that I smoke mixtures composed of Latakia, Turkish, and Virginia. These have a natural tobacco taste, there is naught added to pongify or whore-up the smell. They are not aromatics.

Many of us who smoke such tobaccos look down our long and aristocratic noses at smokers of aromatics. Perfume, faugh, we are purists.
Even Virginia smokers tend to be such. Natural tobaccos are clean and proper. Well-bred. Our kind of leaf, dontcha know.

Aromatics are like cross-dressers. You know how uncomfortable you feel when a person turns out to be the wrong gender for your perversion. If you're that drunk that you don't notice at first, it is all the more disturbing.[Or so I've heard.]

Once in a blue moon, though, some of us head into the sleazy part of town for some rough trade - a furtive indiscretion with a perfumed tart. Sometimes it's an aromatic we smoked as a child, or a flavoured Cavendish that reminds us of a long summer. A vanilla cake, or a heather-honey Dutchman. Something soapy, or oily, or old-lady and tea cosy by the fire.
So do not be too surprised when I say that I have a sample of Thomas' most recent blend. It actually smells good - I'll probably stuff it into one of my pipes this evening.

Having already committed to a dalliance with fruity trollops, I decided to open up a tin of flavoured leaf I had on my desk.

Treasures of Ireland: SHANNON Sweet & Mellow

...Sweet Clyster-mighty!!!
What is that smell?!? I think it's supposed to be melon, but if it is, that is the nastiest meanest melon ever. A severe and murderous bitch-superior at a reformatory among the melons. Do they actually grow melons in Ireland? They shouldn't.

The tobacco looks very nice. A ribbon-cut compound of brights and darks, some black Cavendish evident, though probably not a dark-pressed flake - more likely stoved. The texture is very similar to some of the blends I smoked in the Netherlands, and the appearance and feel of the leaves do actually remind me of a few Niemeyer mixtures that came in tins, plus some German blends of the seventies.
As does the smell - as long as I keep my nose at least a full yard or more away. Maybe more than two yards. Good barf almighty. Pee-hoo. Turkish cat-house. Buckets.

That smell is phenomenal. It does not smell in any way like tobacco. Pungently fruity.
A fragrance that is ready for combat. An aroma that carries nunchucks and a shiv. Not so much a sweet young thing as a clapped-out old syphilitic, diseased and mean.
This is not a delicate little lady among the tobaccos, this is the brassy-voiced transvestite from hell.

Kool Cigarettes, while they featured a buff macho talking penguin with shades in their ads, did not smell like penguin. Perhaps the company felt that a penguin might appreciate the chils-up-the-old-colon perfume of menthol, who knows. Damn' marketing department.

Some Kentucky tobaccos smell earthy and roasty - imagine the pong of feathers. Semois sometimes has a dead bird or dung-heap odour. Both are air-dried tobaccos (i.e. Burley and Maryland types). Thicker leaves smell oilier. So I would venture to guess that some of the cavendishes made with air-cured leaf would smell like penguin - quite as much as mango-pineapple-coconut-caramel smells "tropical'. More so even.Especially because air-drying increases ammonia - a significant flavour component of guanos and soggy feathered carcasses.

Try MacBaren's 'Burley London Blend' - described as a "very distinct tobacco made from white Burley matured in wooden casks". Thus aged and pongy.

Or, better yet, Samuel Gawith's 'Bracken Flake': "A careful blend of air-cured Kentucky & fire-cured Virginias make for a medium to strong flake, of a lesser density than 1792. Bracken Flake boasts a unique and intimidating aroma, brought about by the application of a long-used essence".

Probably prefered by all discriminating penguins.

Actually, any Burley and Toasted Cavendish blend will do. Burley is a chameleon. In addition to being penguinatic.

I do not understand completley what the target of this post is - what do you wish to achive? On one side, this is unsensible chatter about a man dressed in strange fashion in an environment of which it is likely that it is normal, not despite the fact that such and the people who do so are in completely of no purpose to themselves, their relatives, to society, or to any higher purpose or being. Why spend attention upon them? Why write about them at such a length? Followingly, nonsense about tobaco, which without doubt or dispute is poison, damaging to lungs and veins, socially nowadays unaccepted, of which no one enjoys the second hand smoke. Name me one person, just one, who has boasted of enjoyment from that second hand smoke! One enjoys not even the smell! That you then also admit that the tin of which you talk is unpleasantly reeking indicates not more than the waste of money, the eating of your own wallet. What should psosess you to write this garbage? Have you truly nothing better that you do? Have you no valuation for the people who suspicionless dive upon your blog to receive this kind of stuff under their eyes? You damage not only yourself, but also the innocent, by writing of such strange behaviours and tobaco. This is a shame in two measures. Truly, why do you write so much about tobaco? You know that it harms. You know that it has no usefullnes, and also no redemption value. That addiction of you will only damage to your health in terms, and to those who of you have affection. That hardly it isn;'t to quite of the habit, many have with success achieved that same.

Well, that's it then. Wombat smells of complex pee and poo. With a sourish note. So once again, probably a Burley blend. But a more old-fashioned one.[Why you want to smell like wombat is a question. It sounds too much like a fratboy. But anyhow.]

Try Sir Walter Raleigh or Prince Albert. Edgeworth is probably too upscale. You could also try a nice Cornell & Diehl burley mixture with a some latakia for a woodsey note. Elegant Emu comes to mind - Burley, Latakia, Cavendish, Red Virginia, Perique. The Latakia is muted, the taste is mild, and it has been described as sweet - sour - woodsy. The Perique, though minor, grows near the end (perhaps like the 'bite on the rump' described in the note about wombat sex - see above).

I'm apologize for the last comment, but as every member of Monty Python (with the possible exception of Terry Gilliam) realized, the comic potentialities of the word "WOMBAT" are vitually limitless.WOM-bat. Wom-BAT. NIIII-WOM-bat."What's that yer eatin', Cletus?""Armadiller jerky...Wom-bat?"CUIDADO, LOS WOMBATS!!!

A complicated dance, a bite on the rump and ferocious backward kicks are all part of the wombat's lovemaking repertoire, a new study has revealed.

Sounds like an ideal of a relationship. It is a thrilling description of healthy lust. No really.I can just imagine what the children think when that goes on in their parents' bedroom. Little wombattelech are no doubt scarred for life, and Woody Allen-like spend their hard earned cash on bi-weekly visits to a shrink.

Seriously, have you people ever considered following their excellent example? This comment string indicates deep trauma, and possibly neurosis of extreme dimensions. I at least am sane, I have my severe doubts about you.

Seriously, have you people ever considered following their excellent example? This comment string indicates deep trauma, and possibly neurosis of extreme dimensions. I at least am sane, I have my severe doubts about you.

Anybody who goes to a shrink needs his head examined. Sanity is purely a state of mind.

I don't smoke!

You should. I envision you as smoking a full-bent apple or billiard, probably laden with a Perique-rich blend. Probably ten percent perique, forty percent rubbed out red Virginia flake, twenty-five percent whiskey Cavendish, and the remainder equally divided between bright ribbon (for smokeability) and toasted Cavendish (actually a fire-cured Kentucky air-dry, not a Cavendish at all - but adds a nice smoked chocolate undertone). [Feel free to have a tobacconist compound this for you.]

Late at night you would probably enjoy a dark flake (in a different bent billiard - you should rotate your pipes). Either McClelland Navy or Blackwoods Flake, or possibly Rattray's Marlin Flake - even in the Kohlhase, Kopp & Co. version. While contemplating your undoubtedly vast collection of panties. Neatly washed, folded, tagged, and gently misted with jessamine perfume. Normally kept in museum-quality sleeves or glass-topped trays lined with cedar. It is good, it is very good. Contemplatively you stroke the top one. How nice - the lace edging is in excellent condition still. The cotton itself has softened from much washing.

This place is buggery infested with wombats! It started off with a jolly edifying post about fetishes, and fast degenerated into a lot of stuff about penguins, clysters, and wombats. This is poofy and Canadian!That's it, call some rednecks to club the beasts. Whack them severely, and again. But preserve the pelts - they are much in demand among the cognoseti..., cognesomen..., cognosti..., cognisceng...., snobby freaks at the back of the hill.

Once desiccated, de-veined, fermented, cured, pressed, steamed, and sliced into dark fibrous sheets, they are a full flavoured yet relatively smooth smoke, better than old ladies.

"By golly Cletus, I forgot to buy what I came to get at the hardware store. I guess we'll just have to come back the next time you boys are in town," was Grandpa's reply. With that my grandpa would give us a wink and that never failed to make Claude and me smile.

In connection with this tobacco it will be necessary to also describe the Erinmore, which most hate and few love. As tobacco goes, it is in its own category, and all pipe smokers of a certain age have tried it at some point. One cannot escape those attractive yellow tins. But the scent is enough to drive one into a whorehouse.

Sounds to me like that tobacco and that "man" are in the right city. Honestly how do you live there? Smoking discriminated against, but offenses to the eyes and to all good taste openly tolerated. You guys need to straighten out your priorities.

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About Me

Middle-aged, but younger looking than you. And hardly any arthritis. Really.
Resident of the Bay Area, though formerly of somewhere in the Netherlands - living in Europe with a US passport can be an adventure.
I should also mention that I am not a Red-Sea pedestrian. Make of that what you will.